


Long Forgotten Fairytale

by KanarandTarkaleanTea



Series: 69 Love Stories [6]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Heartbreak, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:51:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KanarandTarkaleanTea/pseuds/KanarandTarkaleanTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another installment  of <i>69 Love Stories</i>. Written as some sort of stage direction/fiction hybrid.  Hopefully the style is not offputting.  (Thank you for your indulgence!)</p><p>No infringement intended to the Star Trek Franchise or The Magnetic Fields</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Forgotten Fairytale

  
_If someone told me you'd be here_  
 _whispering these familiar things_  
 _talking to my little pets_  
 _smoking the same old cigarettes_  
 _I would have laughed_  
 _I saw you last in summertime_  
 _You said you hated long goodbyes_  
 _You said there's nothing to explain_  
 _in every life a little rain_  
 _et cetera_  
 _::Chorus::_  
 _I guess you've had your little joke_  
 _but I have lost my sense of humor_  
 _My medication's wearing off_  
 _or it's just not strong enough_  
 _to cover this_  
 _and then you kiss me like before_  
 _and I find myself wanting more_  
 _and you tell that little lie_  
 _that kept me hypnotized:_  
 _another kiss..._  
 _If someone told me I'd succumb_  
 _If someone said I'd be so dumb_  
 _after all the sleepless nights_  
 _when I turned on all the lights_  
 _I would have hit them_  
 _but I have turned the other cheek_  
 _My voice trembles, my knees are weak_  
 _and you beat me once again_  
 _and I know what happens then:_  
 _you raise the ante..._  
 _And a long-forgotten fairytale is in your eyes again_  
 _and I'm caught inside a dream world_  
 _where the colors are too intense_  
 _and nothing is making sense_

[Garak pours himself a glass of kanar and settles back into his chair. He drums his fingers a few times and lets out a sigh. He fixes a benign smile onto his face and gazes into the eye of the video recorder.]

Computer, begin recording.

Good evening Doctor.

I thought that since tomorrow is my final day here on the station that I might provide you with one last literary offering. [He holds up a placating hand] Don’t worry, it is not a repetitive epic — you’ve made your philistine notions abundantly clear as to your views on the greatest works of Cardassian literature. No. I thought I would attempt to tell you one of those strange human stories that your people use to frighten small children.

Never fear — I don’t think you’ll find my story frightening. Rather I suspect you will find it an amusing tale — a trifle unbelievable perhaps — but it is my understanding that these stories are supposed to be hyperbolic and unbelievable.

[He clears his throat.]

Once upon a time — a strange way to begin a story as I’ve said before, it’s a rather meaningless phrase but… [he waves a hand in a “what can you do” gesture] 

Once upon a time, there was a plain and simple tailor named Garak. He was a rather brilliant sort of fellow, with a keen wit and he was, of course, quite handsome. However, that is where his good fortune ended. You see, through no fault of his own, fate transpired against him and he ended up being exiled from his home — left forlornly adrift in a “faraway kingdom” that was populated almost entirely with people that did not like him. 

Yet the poor tailor was resilient, and he endured his situation for years with remarkable aplomb. 

Then, one day, a young prince arrived in this faraway kingdom. The prince’s name was Julian, and he was very handsome. Everyone in the kingdom was enchanted by his beauty, and many of the fair maidens tried to capture his attention. The prince was not simply beautiful, though. He was also intelligent and kind — with a sweet disposition and a rather delightful sense of humor. [Garak leans towards the camera and whispers conspiratorially] I know this part seems unbelievable, but this is a fairytale, my dear doctor, and it is supposed to be far-fetched. 

[He leans back in his chair]

Anyway. As soon as the tailor saw the handsome young prince, his heart was captured. How could he resist? His body and mind hungered for the handsome young man… in ways that aren’t really appropriate to include in a children’s fairytale.

But even though the tailor himself was handsome and intelligent, he knew he had nothing to offer the prince; he was older, an outcast with neither prospects nor standing, and didn’t possess the physical attributes that most attracted the prince’s attention. So for many sleepless nights, the tailor’s mind tortured him with thoughts of the young man, held forever out of his reach. 

But one day, while creating an unbelievably beautiful outfit of clothes — he was really a very _good_ tailor — he heard of a plot that was being developed against the [he rolls his eyes] “royal family”. It also happened that there was a chance that if he could diffuse the plot, the tailor might be able to return home. 

The tailor decided that he would talk to the prince in an effort to both help the royal family and to buy his way back into the good graces of his homeland. 

To some extent the plan worked. He was able to make contact with the prince, and together they managed to foil the plot. But the tailor’s homeland was run by idiots and fools, so they did not grant him the honor or returning home.

But, while he should have been devastated, the tailor had reason to rejoice, for the prince seemed intrigued by him, and even though the royal family didn’t approve, he and the tailor began a friendship. Surprisingly, they had much in common, and as their time together progressed, the tailor’s esteem for the prince only grew. 

But sadly, so did tailor's desire.

[Garak rubs a hand over his eyes and a deep exhale escapes him. He drinks some kanar.]

So, years passed and the prince continued to honor the tailor with his company. And the tailor tried his best to be grateful.

Then one night, the young prince and the tailor had too much to drink. Much to the tailor’s surprise, the prince kissed him, and the long years of the tailor’s ardor overcame his better judgment. He allowed the prince to do more than just kiss him. And he did far more than simply kiss the prince’s pretty lips.

For several months, they met in the evenings. For the first time in a long while, the tailor didn’t feel alone in the land so far from his home.

And, before he knew it, his heart made the most fatal of mistakes; it allowed for hope.

Yet, even though the tailor didn’t believe in such things, it turned out that he was born under the control of an especially cruel and vindictive star. Because while his heart was entirely captured by the handsome young prince, the prince did not feel the same way. So when a stupid but beautiful young woman turned her sights on the prince, the young man’s attentions were diverted from the tailor.

Yet the tailor understood, because again, what did he have to offer the lovely young man? Nothing. [His smile turns wry and he snorts a laugh] Well, amazing sex — but sadly the passion the tailor offered the young man in the bedroom wasn’t enough to inspire the prince to think of him as any more than a pleasant distraction in between other sexual partners.

[More kanar. His hand shakes as he lifts it up to his lips].

So, the prince and the tailor became “just friends” once more, and the older man tried to accept this development. With the assistance of a fair amount of alcohol and the introduction of another outcast from his homeworld, he managed to weather the transition from lovers back to friends with a moderate amount of grace. 

But the stars had not yet had enough tortuous fun with the tailor. 

[Another drink; long draughts until the glass is empty. Garak refills the glass.]

Several months later, the prince and his amoureux grew tired of each other’s company, and the young man once again thought it would be pleasurable to take up with the tailor. At first, the tailor thought he must be joking, because surely the prince understood: the tailor was too old and too… in love… [Garak closes his eyes] to be treated in such a cavalier manner. He laughed at the young man; told him that their little tryst had been fun, but that he was no longer wanted such frivolous amusement. He insisted he was no longer interested in the prince that way — that his curiosity and desire for the young man’s supple flesh had been sated.

Oh, I forgot to mention that the tailor was an excellent liar, didn’t I?

[Garak rubs his forehead, pours another drink. Empties it. Pours another.]

The problem was that the tailor had allowed the prince to learn too much about him, and the young man wasn’t fooled by his words. It also turned out that the prince was not nearly as kindhearted as the tailor had originally thought, and while he pretended to accept the tailor’s words, he cunningly laid in wait until the old man was once again in a position to be vulnerable enough to his advances. In fact, he waited until the tailor suffered the excruciating blow of his father’s death — which just happened to also sound the death knell to his hopes of ever returning home, before he sprung his trap to lure the tailor back into his bed.

With kind words, soft hands, and passionate lips, the prince convinced the tailor that his faithlessness had been a singular occurrence. That _now_ the young man felt the same way about the tailor as the tailor felt for him.

It turns out the prince was an accomplished liar as well. 

[Kanar]

I wish I could say that the tailor didn’t weaken. That he was strong enough to resist the unparalleled charms of the prince... But I have noticed that often there is always a tragic element in these fairytales, and this one is no different.

The tailor succumbed to the advances of the prince. With even greater passion then they had experienced before, they once again became lovers. The tailor tried to remain aloof. Attempted to fool himself into believing that he could detach himself as he had detached himself from so many other parts of his life. The tailor told himself that he would simply enjoy the young man’s body, to use the prince’s flesh to satisfy his thirsts. After all, he had lived his entire life alone — without emotional attachment. He would harden his heart and not allow himself to feel anything for the prince.

[Garak exhales. Drinks. Looks deeply into the camera.]

I think this is the part of the story that could be considered the “moral,” doctor, so you will want to pay attention.

You told me a story once about a boy who cried wolf. This tale is similar, but with a cruel twist. You see, as I mentioned before, the tailor was a consummate professional when it came to lying. He could weave falsehoods as expertly as he weaved cloth. Could piece together untruths as skillfully as he sewed together the separate pieces of a lady’s ball gown.

Yet, instead of townsfolk ceasing to believe his obfuscations, his skills increased. The tailor became so adept at lying that he began to lie to himself. And worse still, he began to believe his own lies.

So their affair continued; the tailor deluding himself into thinking he was impervious to the prince’s charms.

Imagine his surprise, then, when the day came that he realized that he was even more in love with the prince than the first time they had become lovers . Yet this realization couldn’t have occurred in a tender moment between the tailor and the prince. No, it had to be when the doct- I mean, _prince_ , once again abandoned the tailor for a fair maiden. And not just any fair maiden… oh no, she was a princess in the royal Federation family.

The prince apologized to the tailor and explained how he hadn’t meant to fall in love, but that he hadn’t been able to help himself. How he’d finally been offered the chance for true happiness — the opportunity to be with the princess he had always loved, but had thought he had lost. 

[Garak crashes a fist against his desk. Looks away from the camera while his chest rises and falls with deep, racked breaths. After a moment, he looks back at the camera, and aside from moisture on his cheeks, he has resumed his usual expression.]

Anyway. 

[Drinks kanar]

The best part of this little tale, though, is that after all of this, the tailor was finally allowed to go home. Yes, what he had wanted for so many years was finally granted. His exile was lifted, in fact, he had helped with the liberation of his homeland and would be given a hero’s welcome.

So is this a happy ending? The tailor, though heartbroken, is allowed to go home and the prince gets to marry the princess and live happily ever after? Ah, yes, wouldn’t that be nice… But I have read several of these Earth fairytales, and I have found that happy endings were the exception, not the rule. This tale is more of the traditional sort: with young women with fish tails feeling like they are walking on broken glass the rest of their days and old women dancing themselves to death in red-hot iron shoes. This tale, like those, involves torture. And while the tailor’s feet escaped relatively intact, there would be no happy ending for him. You see, while he had been exiled, the tailor’s home had gone through a devastating war, and it was now just the hollow, destroyed shell of the place he had known. Everyone that had meant anything to him there was dead. The places that he had remembered with fondness were charred skeletons. The memories that he cherished and had held close through his long exile were defiled by the harsh reality of existence.

[Garak doesn’t even bother pouring more kanar into his empty glass, simply upends the bottle into his mouth until all that is left is the sticky residue clinging to its curved inner surface. When he looks back at the camera, his eyes are glassy and vacant.]

So often, the tailor had wished, had _hoped_ [Garak looks disgusted] that his tale would end with “and he and the prince lived happily ever after.” But as I mentioned, these tales were told to teach a lesson, and how better to learn a lesson than to show that when the moral is disregarded, there is punishment.

The moral of this story is that you cannot escape your fate. If your life is predestined to contain nothing but unhappiness, you had best accept it. Because if you hold out hope, your punishment will only be more severe.

[Garak leans back in his chair, eyes squinted, a bitter smile on his lips.]

Well, doctor, what do you think of my story? Does it satisfy the harsh requirements of the fairytale genre?

I would like to say that it has been a pleasure knowing you these past seven years, but I’m afraid my ability to lie has been deteriorating of late. Instead, I will simply say that I wish you and your Federation and your princess all the happiness and bliss that you deserve.

Computer. End recording.

**Author's Note:**

> Usual caveat- not beta'd apologies for errors


End file.
